


Paris

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [19]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M, Paris (City), Romance, We'll Always Have Paris, these two idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: She shivered and he linked their fingers. As much as she wanted to drag him back up to her room for a quickie, she was also enough of a romantic to want their first time to be more than a hit and run experience. They would have enough of that over time if this worked out the way she was starting to hope it would.





	Paris

**Title:** Paris  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** [Come Rain, Come Shine](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1097343)  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt  
**Rating:** Teen  
**Timeframe:** That time in season six between _Thrill of the Hunt_ and _Just Like Riding a Bike_  
**A/N:** You realize there are FIVE MONTHS between that kiss and them falling into bed together? I have time to fill!  
**Disclaimer:** Diane, these two idiots technically belong to you. I don’t make any money off of them. But … bring him back? Please?

 **Summary:** _She shivered and he linked their fingers. As much as she wanted to drag him back up to her room for a quickie, she was also enough of a romantic to want their first time to be more than a hit and run experience. They would have enough of that over time if this worked out the way she was starting to hope it would._

 

Paris was, as always, lovely. The one place where people were so rude she was considered a courteous guest. Oh, but she loved the blunt nature of the French, the glamour of the women, the snide artistic nature of the men. She loved the lights at night, the ever present rain, and the open markets with books and bags and coffee to die for. She’d learned French not just because it was an expectation of the women of her educational generation, but because she loved the rough passion and depth of the language.

Of course, it wasn’t all romance and rain, despite everything having a hint of the decadence of wine, all hidden behind the fog of a long, elegant cigarette. Once, she’d loved the wine. Now, she looked longingly past her club soda, picking at the elegant cheese and bread on her plate, and focused on Avery. In France, sobriety was difficult and not smoking almost impossible.

The Parisian nanny was wonderful. She was an au pair for a family in the area and suddenly, Avery had children his own age to play with while Murphy was stuck in interviews all day long. After the first day of the summit, he came back spouting basic French words and babbling about his new friend Justine. At night, she took her baby for long walks and watched him explore the world in ways she knew he wouldn’t remember, but would shape him anyway. Every day, somehow, she fell more and more in love with this little boy in ways she’d never imagined possible.

One day three though, she was ready to go home. Just as she was finishing up the last interview and getting ready to throw all of her clothes into the suitcase and get the hell out in the morning, the concierge stopped her in the lobby. “Madame,” he said, his accent over-the-top to appease the American tourists, “a message was left for you from a Pierre Hunt?”

Her heart stopped. She grabbed the piece of paper from the man’s hand, ignoring his expectation for a tip.

_Cafe. By five. Plane to catch._

She glanced at her watch. It was 4:30. Fuck.

Notes and tape in tow, Murphy raced to the small cafe attached to the hotel lobby, and there on the balcony was the man who would be her lover. Their eyes met over the tables and he rose up, walked over, and didn’t even hesitate. He just wrapped her in his arms and kissed her and suddenly Murphy understood the true meaning of always having Paris.

She pulled back, suddenly conscious of her colleagues and the tourists staring at them, but with the way Peter was looking at her, she quickly stopped caring. Diane Sawyer, eat your heart out. “You have a plane to catch?” She surmised, given the ticking clock on the timeframe.

“I’m literally on a layover. I knew you’d be working, but I thought I’d take a chance.”

She shivered and he linked their fingers. As much as she wanted to drag him back up to her room for a quickie, she was also enough of a romantic to want their first time to be more than a hit and run experience. They would have enough of that over time if this worked out the way she was starting to hope it would.

Starting to hope. A few scattered phone calls and a couple of short emails did not a long term proposal make. But she felt so good in his presence. She had from the moment they’d met, if she ever let herself admit it.

“I see your arm is out of the sling …” she said, stepping closer.

“I have things to prove to you,” Peter said as he led her back to his table. The server appeared and she asked for coffee before picking up the thread of their flirting.

“We don’t have time,” she teased. “Unless, you want to try that flutter thing again.”

He kissed her and she sighed, letting the romance of the moment wash over her. “So, that was a good move, then?” He grinned as their eyes met. “I wasn’t so sure after the last time.”

“I could barely think during that fluff piece. So what do you think?”

“I think I need to take a later flight.”

“Can you?” She couldn’t lie. The first time with Peter being in a hotel room in Paris? With room service of coffee and crepes afterward? If that could happen, she’d be lost forever. Every girl’s dream and she’d have it. But his face was falling and she knew the answer. She’d had this flight before. “Your only connecting flight for a week relies on you getting this one.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“I’m trying,” he teased. She smacked his arm before he pulled her back in for another kiss.

“How long have you been here?”

“An hour …” he shrugged.

“Damn.” The server appeared with the coffee and she ignored him as he set it down and vanished again.

“It’s okay.” His fingers were stroking the top of her hand. “I … I really would rather not just have to finally get you naked and then run.”

Great, now he was reading her thoughts too. Yeah, she was done for.

“When do you think you’ll be home?”

Home. Home. Not back in DC. Home. She sipped her coffee and felt the blush creeping into her cheeks. Damnit. How could she have let herself already get this far? They hadn’t even had sex yet.

“I’m not sure. A while.”

A while. Well, now she wanted to drag him back upstairs and at least get his hand between her thighs. But the clock was ticking closer and closer to five.

“Where next?”

“Syria. Peru. Anywhere people are killing each other.”

“There was a time you thought you were getting shaky.” He met her eyes with his emerald green gaze and everything melted all over again. How had she become the star in her own romance novel? Murphy took his hand and kissed his fingers. “I’m glad you’ve found your foundation again.”

“I’m not sure I have. But, being out here has been better for me I think.”

They stared at each other over the coffee between them and Murphy shook her head. “Peter, remember that whole being terrible at relationships thing?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I haven’t moved you over to the not-lousy list yet.”

She laughed. He kissed her palm. “You’ll get there pretty fast.”

“I’m not so sure.” His warm fingers stroked her hair back. “I need to go.”

“I know.”

Silence between them. They were just a couple on a balcony in Paris. Wind blew the white table cloths, wine glasses glimmered around them. But they sat, meeting each other’s eyes for as long as they could linger. Murphy’s attention was caught by a taxi pulling up under the balcony and she sighed and gently tugged her hand free. “You have a plane to catch.” Her heart broke as she said the words. Was this what it was going to be like? Was she ready for the ache every time he had to leave?

“Yeah …” he leaned in for one last, gentle kiss. Murphy kept him close for as long as she could before he stood up, his fingers still linked with hers. He sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Be safe, Peter,” she said, glancing up at him.

“I always imagine you telling me to stay down.”

She refused to acknowledge the tears in her eyes. This was too soon for her to feel anything this strong, but here she was, watching him walk away and all she wanted to do was chase after him and beg him to give up this assignment.

But she knew better. And she knew that if she did that, it wouldn’t be long before resentment set in for both of them. This was the difference, at least so far, with Peter. Neither of them expected the other to change. So what if in moments like this, it hurt more than she wanted to admit.

On the boulevard below, a taxi pulled up and she watched Peter climb in. He glanced up as he shut the door and offered a last wave. Not caring how corny it felt, she blew a kiss. Murphy sat, watching the taxi merge into Paris traffic. Her coffee went cold while she let the questions roll through her mind and all of them came back to one: was this worth it? But the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. She’d never felt like this before, and like any good investigator, she knew she had to see where the story would lead. Romance, though, had her slide the message from Peter into her reporter's notebook.

A new voice distracted her from her musings and she looked over to see a different love story wanting attention as Avery raced to her, ahead of the nanny. He had a flower in his hands and dirt on his face and looked as happy as she’d seen him in months. “Merci,” she said to the nanny as she scooped Avery into her arms. The nanny waved good-bye and Murphy made a point to remember her for the next time they were here. “So tell me,” she said, wiping smudges from Avery’s forehead. “What did you learn today?”


End file.
